


reverence in promise, devotion gifted freely from the heart of the divine

by dickprince (ruthlesslistener)



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: (there is a hemipenis involved), Aftercare, Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Domdrop, Double Penetration, Edging, Heavy religious themes and symbolism, Implied Polyamorous Relationship, Implied power dynamics (gods/mortals), Implied self-hatred and past relations to violence (Pale King), Intersex Character, Loving Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, PK has a longass three-pronged tongue that used to help grip prey when he was a big noodle, Porn with Feelings, Prompt Fill, Scent Kink, Sex but Holy, Trans Lurien, Trans Male Character, Tumblr Prompt, needless to say he knows how to wield it, worship and devotion through sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthlesslistener/pseuds/dickprince
Summary: The Pale King contemplates a request made of him by his Watcher...in particular, one that he previously deemed too dangerous to attempt on a creature made of flesh and blood rather than root and bark.Perhaps he is weaker-willed than he thought he was. Or, perhaps, the damn meeting was simply dragging on for far too long, and he is painfully aware that all the noblebugs in the room are making astoundingly little progress for an argument that was currently proving itself to be astonishingly good at wasting his time...time that he would much rather be spending in bed with his head between Lurien's thighs.Patience was a virtue, one that he often prided himself on having. Alas, the patience of a predator did not help him here, and he was quickly finding out than the patience of a god separated from his beloved devout was not one worth testing.(Or, the fic where the Pale King learns to finally stop being such a tightass about his teeth, and finally eats out his boyfriend in the way that he deserves.)
Relationships: Lurien the Watcher/The Pale King (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 70





	reverence in promise, devotion gifted freely from the heart of the divine

**Author's Note:**

> finally got this thing polished up enough to publish. f i n a l l y
> 
> combined three prompt requests for this one for a frankly insane fuckin' wordcount for something that originally started as a fun little 200-word drabble challenge with "You taste so damn good", "Get on your knees", and “I really want to kiss you right now” “Do it then”
> 
> as you can see, this is not 200 words. please somebody scream with me because otherwise it's just gonna be me whooping out here in the chaparral like some sorta fucked-up, horny, sleep deprived coyote running purely off of adderall and an all-consuming rage for the world and my own existance
> 
> [BRIEF WARNING FOR FELLOW TRANSMASC FOLKS]: I described Lurien's bits as having a clit and a cunt, because I personally don't care all that much about the terminology for my own bits. My own bottom dysphoria usually just extends to me going 'wait hold up where's my penis' and then being really confused for a half-second before I realize that oop, the auto-fill feeling of having a dick is usually just that- my brain going and giving me phantom ball itches to make up for not having that set, which is something I may-or-may not have extended to Lurien and def. extended to PK in giving him both (bc c'mon, you gotta agree that that's really the ideal body type. I know if I was divine, I'd go for that shit too). But I know that doesn't apply to all of us, and that it can cause some of my fellow dudes genuine distress, so I'm just offering this as a fair warning to those who might be uncomfortable with it. Trans experiences are diverse as fuuuck, and even if I write Hallownest as a realm where transphobia isn't a thing at all- hell, PK himself still doesn't even really know what a gender is- I didn't want anyone reading to be uncomfortable with that, just in case
> 
> but anyways warnings over let's get to the porn 
> 
> (also if it is not explicitly clear by now, WL is very aware about all this and is totally fine with it. If the gods don't understand gender then they sure as hell don't understand forced monogamy, either. They're terrifying forces of nature and war criminals, not party poopers, Brenda.)

He had, perhaps, a bit of an issue with giving in to desires that held no scrap of logical sense to them.

Or perhaps he was simply too careful to know how to deal with risks. That was another way of looking at things, one that his lady wife would often kindly hint at and Herrah would bluntly mock him for; certainly, it was a possibility, and his fears were unfounded. He, however, did not take kindly to a weakness of the will, no matter how unfounded his fears were, and the very fact that he was attempting to convince himself to consider beyond his own limitations vexed him. Petty emotions and fleeting whims were the foundation of ruin; logic and reason were the only things keeping them all from damnation, or from scrounging in the dirt like snarling, hissing, baseborn animals. Instinct served its purpose in the wilds, yes, but this was a civilization that  _ he _ had made, and life was a never-ending game of balance that threatened ruin with every misstep.

...Perhaps he was reading too deeply into the act of cunnilingus. He adjusted his weight, listening to the drone of the lesser lord's voice buzz on and on about things that barely mattered, and tried to parse over the tram of thought that had led him to such a conclusion.

The answer was quite simple, in reality, but it was one that he was not fond of admitting to himself, for it placed a certain level of harm on the table that he could not condone. His mouthparts were a radial array of tools made to tear flesh and cleave the earth like it was nothing; his jaws were strong, his fangs still sharp, and the two lines of hooked barbs edging each mandible were hardly toys to be played with. They were not immediately dangerous, yes, but only in the sense that a nail's edge could not cut without the application of force, and that was an unsure factor when caught in the rigors of mating. Especially if said flesh was rather...sensitive.

He resisted the urge to touch the tip of his tongue to his maskpoint, or to open his mouth to scent the air. He could theoretically mask it as a yawn, of course, but it would serve no purpose with both of his mates absent, and neither of them in season. His Lady, of course, would welcome such an offer, and he would relish the act, but...she was a goddess, and injuries lasted only as long as she wished them to. It was not the case with mortal bugs.

And therein lay the problem. Lurien had mumbled the request quietly one night when they were alone, looking off to the side as if ashamed of it, and the surge of interest and the desire to offer it had slowly grown on him, past his initial urge to balk. He was not a fan of denying his mates anything, and, well...a petty sex act wasn't so much of a deal, fangs or no. His only desire was to please. 

He was an odd one of his kind, to desire them even when they weren’t fertile, to wish for them to dwell in his territory without the excuse of eggs to keep them together. And they were odd in their own right, to entrust themselves to a god built for domination and destruction. No matter how gentle he might be, his fangs were built to break rock, his body lithe and muscular. He was a predator, his life bought with the death of his siblings, his second life crafted from the ashes of his old self. He was a creator-god, yes, but he required death as a catalyst to further his gains. His Lady was of life, capable of healing herself if she so wished, but Lurien, for all his skill in spellwork, was not, and it would be so, so easy to break him.

...And now he had somehow managed to shift from a simple sex act to musing darkly about the nature of his kind. If Dryya were here, she’d sternly reprimand him about the dangers of lingering in paths yet untrodden, and the importance of diligence with learning the limits of fangs and claws. He allowed himself a sliver of bitter amusement at the thought of a being as ancient as him needing to be taught how to keep himself from harming those close to him, before letting the emotion flicker out, his eyes roving over the talking bugs without truly seeing them.

Of course he knew how to control himself. He had possessed this body for millennia longer than Dryya’s family line had been alive. He had accidentally injured himself more than he had accidentally injured others, and even that had been a relatively rare occurrence. Cunnilingus had never had such an incident, in the few times he had tentatively tried it with his Lady- but, then again, her bark was tough, and her anatomy lent itself well to the act. Her pleasure came mostly from the stimulation of her unfurled filaments; what he could not handle with his tongue, he could make up for quite easily with his fingers. It was easy to furl back his mandibles and catch her filaments with his tongue; it was no more difficult than catching prey when he had been a wyrm, albeit less...bloody.

But Lurien was different. He was a being of mortal flesh, soft and vulnerable under his carapace, and though the sex-changing spells had altered his markings and pheromones to fit his desires, he had decided against changing his genitals. Which, quite frankly, suited the King just fine- he still didn’t quite understand the point of this whole ‘gender’ thing, or how sex organs factored into it- but that presented some challenges in the...oral sense. He was quite dexterous with his tongue, yes, but he would most likely have to curl his fangs inwards more to prevent his folds from catching on their tips, or focus more on using his tongue rather than augmenting the experience with the dull side of his fangs, as he often risked with his Lady. 

...He wondered how he would taste. How different he would be, compared to her. If he would relax as she did, under his touch, or if he would tense up and cry out, as he oft did when he was desperate and hungering for stimulation, his normally-shy nature fleeing under slow strokes and light caresses. He wondered if he would stutter as he cried his name, the full title lost on his lips; he wondered if he would whimper as he came, trying to muffle himself, or if he would be louder, too far gone to care anymore. He would beg, that was for certain; he would plea, and he would praise him, and the depth of the devotion would burn in his chest like a living star, an endless light that invigorated him, emboldened him, pushed him onwards and onwards until he left him too loose-limbed from his pleasure to cry anymore.

(And how vulnerable he would be, his mortal heart beating far too fast, his chest bared to his god. The Pale King could break him open so easily, devour him from the inside out until all that was left of him was his shell, and he knew it. He knew, and still he would reach for him, still he would sigh as those fangs pressed against his throat, content and safe in the knowledge that he would never harm him, content and safe in his trust for his god.)

(And he would coil around him, thin underscales pressed to soft fur, the sharp ridges of his back plates guarding them both, and he would softly hum the mating-call of his kind until both of them were lured to sleep, the deep, pulsing rumble in his chest as much a threat to other gods as it was a reassurance to his partner.)

...His chair was becoming a little too uncomfortable for his liking. He shifted his tail, balancing himself with some of his shorter legs, and tried to pass it off as a mere adjustment of his seat rather than a sign of restlessness. He would much rather imagine his Watcher splayed out in his bed than he would like to listen to these droning reports, but it was better to sit through the meeting now, and let the members of his court argue their way into another dismissal instead of cutting it short and taking his leave. Nothing of importance was to happen today, but none of these bugs knew that, and perhaps...perhaps if he took the time to think Lurien’s request through, he would be more prepared to handle it when the meeting was adjourned, and he could make his way to the Spire.

(His shell itched with the desire to leave, an incessant heat curling slowly through his abdomen, but he quelled the urge to shift again. He knew what that dull pressure meant. He knew he had more time until it hit its peak, and the desire to unsheathe would become maddening, something ever-lurking on the edge of his thoughts until he finally found the privacy to let it all go. It usually built slower when he was off-season, but that was alright- he could wait. He was a patient predator. He could wait.)

(As discreetly as he could, he drew forth an empty slate, and etched a letter to his Watcher under the table. It was a simple enough task, but he found that some of the tension eased away once he teleported the tablet to the Spire with a soft crackle of soul. Perhaps it was just the energy loss affecting him, but still...it was something done, one step closer to the end. And at least now, it gave Lurien some warning before he would come visit, even if he knew that he would welcome all kinds of interruptions.)

With the meeting stretching on, he turned his thoughts inward, letting them roam through all the miniscule facets of his decision. He knew his scent, sweet and dusty in a warm, living sense, blood swirling under carapace to create a creature of mortal flesh and chitin and fluff. He wondered if he would taste the same- if he would be as sweet as his scent implied, or if the musky edge would come through more in the end. He wondered how it would feel to see his body above him, rocking into him, to hear his soft moans and cries as he traced a tongue along his soft folds, tasting his eagerness and desire.

He wondered what he would taste like once he came. 

...That sounded about as sticky and unhygienic as it was alluring. He should probably assess his instincts later, to figure out the root cause of his behaviors. The scent, at least, he understood-for wyrms were blind creatures, and a heat-scent was the only true excuse to venture into another's territory without fearing death- but  _ tasting  _ was another matter. Particularly so when he was a carnivore, and Lurien was  _ not _ .

Barely a feederbug to a wyrm. Barely anything, to the creature he once was. Only his worship would have sustained him, when he was a huge tunneling thing of teeth and scale, and even then, only for a little while.

But that was not what he was hungry for.

He continued on like that for quite some time, logical calculations of certain positions contrasting with hazier, more instinct-driven images, until they all tangled together into a maddening, alluring dream, taunting him with phantom sensations and the itching burn beneath his shell. By the time the meeting had adjourned, both sides too frustrated to continue even with his neutral input, the pressure in his sheath had reached a point where it was no longer capable of being ignored, the need to release itching at his thoughts as he mumbled excuses and disappeared into the ornate marble hallways.

His Lady taking leave for her gardens had its advantages; Dryya no longer guarded the door to their bedroom, and thus was excused from the sight of watching her King rush forth in a blind hurry, his unusually-undignified strut only exacerbated by the somewhat awkward, stiff way he shuffled forward, into the privacy of his den. At the very least, it allowed him some time to pace about and calm down, to change out from his heavy, ornate robes into something more loose and comfortable, the cool air against his bare shell easing some of the heat coiling low in his stomach.

(The urge to climb onto his bed, roll onto his back, and bare his throat still remained. This, he restrained, if only because he knew that his mating-rumble would not reach the ears of his mates, and that showing the peaceful gesture would merely frustrate him in the absence of them both.)

It was another relief that Lurien shared his habit of being reclusive, for the shortest path to the Spire was one that only he and a scattered handful of bugs knew, for the privacy of both Lurien, and the records that he kept of their people. Still, it seemed to him to take an awfully long time to ascend all the damn elevators, and to avoid the servants peering curiously 'round the corridors. He did not mind his Watcher seeing him in a disheveled state, for he had seen far worse- and he had seen Lurien far more debauched himself, both sexually and nonsexually- but that was not a sight that  _ others  _ were allowed to bear witness to, his Lady and his Watcher the only two exceptions. 

(Avoiding the servants seemed to take longer than it usually did as well. He knew that he glowed, and that his shine drew the eyes of bugs, but  _ really,  _ did they all have to be roaming the corridors, on a workday, of all days? These were all relatively high-ranking bugs, didn't they have records to tend to, reports to file?)

Passing by the two Watcher Knights on duty was painful in of itself- even more so when he forgot their names, as he often did, though in his defense they both looked and smelled remarkably similar. Still, he managed to slow himself down before he came to Lurien's door, taking his time in the elevator to tuck his wings in tight and straighten his robes. Such pomp was unnecessary, of course, but...this  _ was  _ something he was engaging in for Lurien's benefit. He deserved a little bit of a show, even if it would merely get messed up later. There was something deeply intimate about being casual, but...they had not quite reached that aspect of courtship. If they ever would, really; he may have centuries of familiarity with Lurien, but he could not deny the pleased warmth that coiled through him everytime he caught him staring, or the satisfaction that followed when he faked ignorance, and allowed him to look.

And, lo and behold, he found himself cherishing his decision when Lurien opened the door, maskless and clearly fresh from a bath, his casual apparel soft and welcoming instead of the usual stiff, heavy gloss of his court robes. The longer fur cresting his forehead was disheveled, sticking out in small spikes, and his ruff was peeking out from the edge of his cloak at odd angles, glossy with more than his natural iridescence. It was a pleasant sight to come home to, but it was even more pleasant to watch how flustered he got when he looked him over, his antennae twitching like mad in a manner that was almost…. _ cute. _

"Greetings, sire." He was quite obviously fighting to keep his voice level, but there was a note of curiosity that kept threatening to slip through, as he stood aside and beckoned him in. The King caught the way his eyes dipped lower as he walked over the doorway, scanning over his form, and had to suppress the pleased rumble in his throat; Lurien, though intrigued by his visit and tense with anticipation, wasn't  _ that _ worked up. Yet. "I ah, did not quite expect to see you today. Apologies for the mess."

The portion of the Spire that he could see was meticulous compared to his workshop in its current state, only a few scattered easels and paintjars strewn about, but he refused to comment on that. A subtle inhalation yielded the faint smell of drying paint, mingled with Lurien's familiar scent, but he could not detect anything more than a faint hint of his butler, something that put him a bit on edge even as he tried to quell the feeling. " Hello, Lurien. Is Lucien gone?" 

"Yes, he's been dismissed for the night. I told him that I would be taking some time off when your note came." The click of the lock turning accented Lurien's words, before he came up behind him and cautiously placed a hand on his shoulder. The warmth of him sank through the thick cloth, soothing just a little bit of that itch, and he leaned back into the touch with a soft rumble of appreciation, the purr growing louder as Lurien, emboldened by his permission, turned his touch to a gentle caress, trying to ease some of the tension in his frame. “Pardon me asking, but for what reason do I owe you this visit? Is there something wrong?”

Though he remained calm, the King could tell that there was a hint of worry in his voice, as well as a steadfast determination to fix it; a wave of warmth swept over him, despite his slight dismay that Lurien would think he would come only for business matters. It was nice to know that he was loyal, yes- but he was not here for politics. 

“Am I not allowed to call for the simple pleasure of your company?” He glanced over his shoulder, cocking his head as if bemused; he itched with the desire to pull him close, to press his body against his, but he remembered how flustered he got when his Lady did the same to him. It would work with Lurien, then, would it not? 

“O-oh.” Lurien’s antennae folded back, head ducking- his attempt at flirting had been a success. He allowed himself a singular flash of satisfaction, before he tamped it down, trying to keep his body language calm and interested. It was not often that he initiated things, and he was still not quite sure what courting methods would provide the desired results, especially with Lurien’s heart remaining separate from his. But, if his current assumptions were correct, then hopefully...hopefully this would work. “I...I’m quite flattered, my King. Really. Um."

He went quiet for a moment, antennae flicking wildly, before, in a rush, he asked, "May I kiss you?" 

Lurien's hesitance was still not something that he was used to handling, after so many years with his other, much more confident lover, but he could not deny the slow swell of warmth sweeping through him at the request, or the faint purr in his throat as he came closer, watching the way that Lurien shivered at the hum. It was quite pleasant, to know that Lurien knew enough of what upset him to ask; it was even better to tilt his head up in acceptance, baring his throat, and to whisper, quite softly, "You may."

Kissing him still felt like something new and delicate, the occasional fumble making itself known as complex mandibles moved gently over ones much more delicate than his own bladelike mouthparts, but the King remembered what his Watcher liked, and wasted no time in using it against him. A slow press here, the tilt of his head there, and Lurien's jaw relaxed just a little bit wider, letting him in; a hand on his hip and a slow stroke of tongues was enough to have him sighing into the King's mouth, his nerves from before dissolving into a content, peaceful silence. 

And he too, seemed to remember what  _ he  _ liked, his mandibles nipping gently as he pressed back against him, tracing the tip of his tongue against the curve of one fang, trying his best to mimic the courting-bite of a wyrm. It was enough to send sparks of anticipation flickering through his abdomen, rekindling the fire from before; slowly, ever so slowly, the heat built between his legs, until the rub of his plates against each other was near-maddening, the sweet edge of Lurien's scent far too much and yet not enough. He was patient by nature, but his will had been tested already, and now, with Lurien’s warmth pressing against him, with his soft, content moans buzzing against his fangs, it was hard to remind himself to take it slow.

" _ Mmm _ , my King," Lurien whispered, parting to breathe; he sounded calm,  _ happy,  _ the perpetual edge of worry in his voice gone, and the Pale King felt himself rumble louder in response, pleased with the knowledge that he had satisfied his mate. There would be nothing here to harm him, with him so close; Lurien offered his service and devotion with free will and a clear mind, and so it was his duty to please him back, to hold him close and leave him dizzy off of the affection he held for him. The warmth in his chest was meant to be shared, a drum in his head thundering  _ protect protect protect _ . "You're...perhaps we should take this upstairs."

"That would be most agreeable," he replied, his words a hissing rasp in his throat, but he remained absentminded, distracted, consumed by the desire to press against him, to slot their bodies together and relieve the coiling pressure building below. He knew how readily he would take him, how slick he must be, how easily he would yield to the slightest push. Lurien had always been excitable, quick to arouse; it would be a simple task, to press him down into the couch and part his legs, to feel his wet warmth close around him and lock him in tight, to slide his arms around him and press him close, so every shudder and sob vibrated through his thorax, his mating-purr buzzing through Lurien in turn, reminding him that he was safe. 

(What a luxury, for a being like him to be allowed this, submission yielded freely to one who could easily cut through the thin carapace below with a snap of his fangs, who could tear out his heart with a flick of his wrist. How precious that trust was, for him to accept him like this, to know the risks and still let him in, to welcome him and all the dangers he carried with.)

(He knew how it felt to have his heart bared, to be vulnerable. His Lady held his beside her own, cradling them together until they intertwined over the long years, forming into one pure soul. But Lurien was delicate, was vulnerable, a fleeting spark burning in the winds of time, and he wanted nothing more than to cast his wings forward and coil about his glow, to protect him from the inevitable march of enthalpy as best as he could. A joining of the bodies was not something that had to mean anything, but in this case, it was an offer of devotion that he cherished, a treasure to be kept and admired and praised.)

Perhaps it was not his  _ prior _ goal, but it was one that grew more tempting by the moment, for he knew well how Lurien liked to be pleasured, how much he loved to be fucked and filled. He would gasp and whisper sweet nothings, freely offering him his body and his mind, and he would pour himself in, tilt up his head with one hand so that he could press his fangs against his neck and let the warmth filling his heart manifest in the slow roll of his hips, seeking out every soft gasp and whimper that slipped past his lips, urging forth his cries of pleasure. All the worship he had to offer, given freely for him to take and reflect back onto him. Tools offered to him, a god of creation, for him to craft

(For what was a priest, really, but a chalice for the devotion of the divine? To him, Lurien had offered his heart. To him, he had given him his loyalty, his trust, his love and his worship. What more could he ask for, what more could he wish? The only offer more raw, more primal than this was a total sacrifice of the heart and the mind, and he wanted none of it. He wanted him whole, he wanted him to submit willingly. He wanted nothing more than to see him writhe underneath him, lost in his ecstasy, to lean back and see all the slick parts where the two of them were linked, pale white slowly pushing back and forth into dark, velvety blue. He wanted nothing more than to be able to angle his hips the right way and to stroke his clit the way he knew he liked, to watch as he sobbed and came undone under his hands, shaking himself loose so that he could lovingly put him back together again, trust given willingly to someone far too powerful to ever own it.)

But that was not what he had come here for, that was not what Lurien had asked of him. Focus, he had to focus; he had to snap himself out of this lustful haze, and to use the power of mind he had gifted to his civilians, not lose himself to his instincts. It was fine for him to become a sex-drunk fool  _ after  _ the main event was finished, if Lurien was willing, but this was  _ not  _ what he had come here for. 

Still, he could not quite deny himself the urge to lean forward, stretching up to the very tips of his toepads, and to gently nip at the soft fuzz barely covering Lurien's throat. It was hardly more than a pinch, the mere suggestion of a bite, but it made a low, thready gasp quaver out of Lurien's mouth, which sent a shiver down his wings in turn. He could feel Lurien's chest rising and falling in quick breaths under his cloak, and was suddenly gripped by an irrational irritation at the garment, the desire to grasp it in his claws and tear it away rising up his chest. It was that primal urge, more than anything else, that had him stepping away and reaching out to take Lurien's hands, feeling his racing heartbeat thunder against the soft pads of his palm. 

"Bed," he said curtly; the usual hissing whisper of his voice sounded closer to crumbling gravel than a sigh, but he caught the way Lurien shivered, and the flare of arousal he felt made the irritation at his undoing a dim flicker in the back of his mind. "Come."

"As you wish," Lurien said softly, and brushed past him to lead the way; the tip of one of his wings flicked out from under his cloak, its iridescent shimmer drawing his gaze downwards, guiding him forward as he followed behind. Whether Lurien intended to do it or not was trivial- he knew that it meant that Lurien’s arousal matched his own, and once again his anticipation spiked, molten heat pooling between his hips.

_ Not yet, not yet. Be calm, you are not an animal. Not yet. _

The small loft where Lurien rested was perfect for the occasion; a sense of expectant tranquility overcame him as he headed into the dim passageway spiraling into the bedroom, calmed by the close darkness. The room itself, too, was a comfort; cluttered with books and easels and paints galore, dark with only the light of the windows to guide them, it resembled a wyrm’s den enough to settle the remains of his nerves, a sensation of safety sweeping over him. Sidling up behind Lurien as he pulled back the curtains shrouding his bed was something that felt perfectly natural, unlike the first few times they did this; it was hard to remember his fear, how much damage he was capable of with Lurien's familiar scent thick in the air, mustier than his Lady's but no less sweet. It was hard, watching as Lurien placed the bitterroot tablet in his mouth, one of his hands a brand encircling his wrist as he pressed close and watched him swallow. It was hard, when he followed him into the soft cushions lining his nest, and fumbled his way through stripping him naked, a difficult task with Lurien intent on kissing him, a shy smile tugging on his lips as his own fingers deftly unhooked his robes, while he struggled even with the advantage of four hands.

(It would be a lot easier if he tore it, but he could tell the fabric was expensive. No matter how eager he was to mate, the memory of his economics advisors suspiciously eyeing him as he purchased a replacement was a strong deterrent.)

But they got the damn thing off, finally,  _ finally _ , and for a moment he merely sat back on the heels of his longest legs and admired the view laid before him, of Lurien bare against the bedsheets. Already, he could see the shimmer of moisture clinging to the soft fur between his legs; already, he could see the dark purple whorls of his lips poking out from the black fluff, drawing his eye to his engorged clit, the delicate folds of blue slowly relaxing open to reveal the glimmering wetness beneath. The ache between his legs, thus ignored, suddenly made itself known again with a sharp protest, his muscles clenching to unsheathe. He bit down the urge to do it, allowing only the tips to part the apex of his slit: he knew Lurien saw them, the hunger bright in his eyes as he looked him over, but that was not the purpose here, and it was not yet time to let himself slip free.

“Well? What do you desire, my King?” Lurien didn’t stutter, but he did shift uncomfortably under his gaze, looking away. It mattered not to him that he had seen him like this before, or that they had lain together in the past; any eyes laid upon him were bound to bring him discomfort. Or, in this case, arousal, fear turned to stimulation; he trailed his gaze slowly over him again, an odd pleasure thrumming under his skin at the sight of him submitting so, and watched as Lurien reflexively clenched around nothing, his breath hitching as two of his hands slowly pressed his legs apart. 

(He had never been one to tease, in the beginning, with both Lurien and his Lady. He had been shy, fumbling, an alien in his new body, frustratingly devoid of the knowledge he needed to give them what they wanted. Always, he had let his Root lead, guiding his every touch and thrust; always, he had yielded, losing himself in her whims. Always, until now, when he claimed a second lover far more inexperienced than he was, and found their positions switched, Lurien baring himself to be handled instead of the other way around. It had taken some time to adjust, but...centuries with his wife had taught him how to tease, had taught him how to watch for the subtle cues of pleasure, and now that he was comfortable in his act, it was a rush of triumph like no other.)

(But not in the triumph of a victory, nor was this bedroom a battlefield. This was not domination, in here he was not a conqueror. Here, he was someone kinder, something closer to a thing he could never be; a musician, an artist, delicately weaving their instruments until they sang songs of their pleasure, an engineer slotting pieces together until the mechanism began to turn. This was the triumph of something softer; the knowledge that he could give another enough pleasure to leave them shaking in their bead, through careful touch and gentle caress alone.)

(Love was a puzzle, one that he fully intended to solve.)

"I wish to fulfill a request of yours.” Again, that gravel-rasping voice. Again, the jolt of irritation at his slipping mask, twisting into arousal as Lurien shivered at the sound of it, the tips of his claspers peeking out from between his lips. He ached with the pressure in his slit, the desire to let himself slip free, but he didn't want the cool air on his slick skin to distract him. He could wait. "Open your legs a little more."

"Ah- we don't have to, if you are uninterested." Lurien obliged despite his protests, peeking at him out of the corner of two of his eyes; the change in position bared himself better, and he caught the way that his breathing grew ragged at his pleased purr, wingtips shivering at the deep pulse in his chest. Idly, he wondered what would happen once he put his mouth to him, if the vibration in his throat would drive Lurien mad. "You came here in such a rush, I would be fine if its-"

"I want to. It is what worked me up to such a state." His normally-flat tone did not lend itself well to sex talk, even with the mating-purr of his kin thrumming in his thorax. To compensate, he leaned forward over Lurien's body to nuzzle lightly at his chest, the fluff of his ruff excellent for burying his face into. As he pressed forward, his slit brushed against the warmth of Lurien's fur, prompting a soft groan, and for a moment thought that he was trying to rub himself against his sheath to prove how frustrated he was, as he had in his first mating. It was...quite a distracting thought. One that did not help him ignore the throbbing much, how badly he wanted to let himself release and press inside. "I considered it during my meeting, and once I started, I found it quite hard to stop."

Now Lurien's antennae twitched in amusement, his smile losing some of its shyness for something much more devious. It was a side to him that he hardly ever showed, the devious spark hidden under layers of anxiety, decorum, and his typical dry, sarcastic humour, but the King privately thought it quite fetching...second only, of course, to the few times he had seen Lurien sentence convicted criminals to death, and found himself a  _ little  _ too invested in his cold, stern side than what could be seen as  _ strictly  _ professional. "Ah, that I shall not apologize for, not in the slightest. You're very welcome for the entertainment, though now I must admit, my interest had been piqued."

"Then stay still, and do not make any sudden movements. This is a delicate operation." Eager to begin, three different potential positions fixed in his kind, he removed himself from the lazy half-drape on his chest to a more comfortable position, withdrawing his pronged tongue from the depths of his throat. Lurien shifted onto his elbows, watching him eagerly, but remained oblivious to his intentions right up until he lowered himself down between his legs, tongue sliding out from between his jaws to taste the air just above his slit.

( _ Body-heat, sweet-slick sex, arousal heavy and sharp, blood below carapace-) _

"My- oh! Oh, no, don't feel like you have to do such a thing, i-it was a foolish request, anyways." Lurien's legs reflexively tried to close, his thighs pressing hard enough against the Pale King's palms for him to feel the hard carapace beneath, before ducking his head and looking to the side, flustered. The King raised his head slightly, and waited patiently for him to finish, knowing that the hesitation was due more to nerves than a lack of interest. He, after all, tended to be the same. "You mentioned you were uncomfortable with the act at first, despite my insistence otherwise, I do not with to...to pressure you into something you are hesitant about. If that is the case, of course."

He trailed off into a mumble at the end, searching fruitlessly for more excuses, and something possessive pulsed in his chest, a tether drawing him forward, to press his forehead up under Lurien's throat and rumble quietly until his attention was focused wholeheartedly on his own desires, rather than some preconception of what  _ he  _ wanted, which focused more on the satisfaction of giving pleasure than receiving. Still, he swallowed down his instincts as best he could, forcing them to the corner of his mind devoted to the curling heat in his stomach, and slid his hands closer to Lurien's sex, catching his reflexive twitch out of the corner of his eye. Words, words, he had to  _ say it,  _ even if they came out guttural, primal desires dragged from the depths of his chest to be translated into clear speech. He could not press his mind to Lurien's without the risk of overwhelming him, he had to  _ speak. _ "It is not. I do this because I want to. Have I told you not already, that your wishes mirror my own desires? I do not do this out of a sense of duty, but because I have chosen to take you as my mate. Your pleasure is my own." 

A soft, shaky inhale, and a laugh. High and disbelieving, the sound of a man who had reached the dreams he had never hoped to achieve, and it made his heart ache almost worse than his sheath to hear it. He soothed it with a squeeze to his legs, running his palms over the soft fur, trying to ground him in reality, in the knowledge that he was here, and that it was because he wished to be, not out of a sense of obligation he must fulfill. "You have."

"Then allow me this. I promise that I shall take precautions- I did, after all, have an entire meeting to figure it out." He punctuated his words with a gentle rub, just above Lurien's navel, his wrist barely brushing by his lips, as his other hands slid slowly along his legs and hips. Lurien's breath hitched, arching into the touch, but his speech seemed to have worked, muscles growing lax under his touch, claspers flaring out from his folds. It was a tempting sight, as well as something oddly beautiful, like watching a flower unfurl its petals. He wasn't sure if he attributed that association to Lurien's unique colouring, his affection for him lending a personal bias to the observation, or the fact that it reminded him of how his wife opened up when aroused.

(Perhaps he merely had a preference for vulvas that looked like flowers, as his own was the rather typical barely-there slit of a wyrm. He found this concept odd, though, and strove to ignore it; it wasn't as if staring at Lurien's genitals had kindled this desire within him, after all.)

"A worthy period of time for such a problem," Lurien muttered, before stiffening up and gasping; the tip of his tongue, apparently, had flicked against the head of his clit with his last inhale, something he had barely felt himself. Light as it had been, however, Lurien's exclamation sounded like it was just on the edge of it being overwhelming rather than pleasurable, so he made a mental note to tease his way up to sucking it, and bent back down to run the length of his tongue over the seam of his slit. "A-ah, my lord!"

The sudden high pitch of his voice sent a jolt of heat through him; he responded with a low rumble, pressing two fingers gently against his claspers to keep them from trying to tangle with his mandibles, and pressed his legs open further, lowering himself down for another lick. Slowly, slowly, he ran his tongue over his slit, massaging the rough nubs on the tip teasingly over the soft flesh, spreading the tines so that they passed around his clit; Lurien moaned helplessly, pressing a hand over his mouth, and though he loathed to do it, he withdrew, minding not the string of slick connecting them as he flicked his tongue over his mandibles, tasting him on his fangs.

(Musky. He was musky. But in a sweet, fleshy sort of way, like featherdust and the heat of blood beneath flesh. It was not at all like the sweet nectar of his Lady, but closer to what he would associate with the warmth of another body, if such a thing had a scent or a taste; something closer to the taste of flesh without the burst of snapping carapace and gushing blood, and it aroused a hunger in him that had nothing to do with hunting.)

"Do not stifle your voice. I want to hear you." It was easier to purr out the words than to try to speak clearly, to pretend he was still in control- not that he cared much, anymore. Every slight shiver and twitch filled his head with a heady rush of power, and he wanted nothing more than to hear him sing his praises as he rewarded him for his devotion, his usual awkward tendencies shoved aside by his lust. Was this what his Lady felt, when she drew forth cries of ecstasy from his throat as she fucked him? Was this what she felt, when he bowed before her, and focused only on her pleasure? He wanted nothing more than to watch Lurien come undone under his tongue, to hear him sob helplessly, overwhelmed by how good he felt- did he not deserve it, after all, for all those years that he remained faithful?

(If only he had made his body a little longer- he would be able to circle around him like the twisting behemoth he used to be, restraining him completely. He would be able to press their faces together and feel him jerk under his coils as he fucked him, helpless in his grip, held close and protected by the arch of his scales.)

"Sorry, sorry, just…" Lurien stuttered again on his words, years of speech class failing him. The twisting heat between his legs spiked, throbbing through his body, but again, he resisted the urge to unsheathe. The distraction would be unwelcome, and besides, he could take his pleasure afterwards. They had the night, but he knew that he would have to pace his orgasms, if Lurien decided that he wanted a source of penetration other than his fingers. "You don't...if you don't like the taste, if you choose to do something else, I won't be upset…"

"Worry not about trivial things. You taste  _ divine. _ " His voice lapsed into growl against his will. Not that he cared much at this point, but losing control of himself was not something he yielded easily. Even if he knew Lurien could take it, even if he knew he would welcome it. He had seen him erect barriers against foes gone mad with infection, holding onto the spell until his whole body trembled with the effort to sustain it- he was not as delicate as he looked, he could handle his bites, his nips, the crush of his coils around him. He could sense the soul pulsing through him, throbbing like his heartbeat he could feel through the folds of his slit; he had not made him Watcher on a whim, he could handle him better than any mortal in the City, blinded by his light while Lurien looked through the allure to see the creature underneath. How odd it was to him still, to know that he looked at the bug beyond the power and found it to his liking, that he yearned for closeness when so many others made him want to flinch away.

(Even so, the urge to bite down on the back of his neck and pin him down as he fucked him clashed roughly against the desire to treat him like a bug made of glass. Both his Lady and Lurien welcomed the harsher edge to his nature, but he could not let himself go so easily, not when he knew the damage that he was capable of. Lurien was tougher than the other mortals under his care, yes, but only in the mental sense; his shell was as thin as any of the others, he must be careful with his fangs and claws and muscle.)

Another disbelieving laugh, pitch high with emotion, and Lurien tentatively reached down to press a hand against his cheek, the heat of his body burning through his mask. He pressed into the touch, meeting his gaze, then flicked his tongue lightly against his wrist, feeling the flicker-fast leap of his pulse under the thin chitin. This was something more familiar, this wordless yielding to his lovers- this was something that he welcomed, the knowledge that he could give them what they wanted. “Then do as you wish, I will not stop you. My body is yours, my lord.”

“And I shall treat it as it deserves.” It felt almost too much to say, but the flush of embarrassment under his shell was well worth the way Lurien smiled shyly back, looking almost giddy with disbelief. And it was even better, when he heard his soft, quavering moan as he ran the back of his claws up under his clit, and bent back to his task, feeling the lips of his sheath rub together with his own slickness. 

(Perhaps later, if he was willing, Lurien could do the same to him. But that was not something that interested him right now- the low burn under his skin would feel so much better after he forced himself to wait, the relief all the sweeter with the knowledge of his restraint.)

Pulling his fangs back to avoid accidental nips ended up being less of a trial than he anticipated. Lurien, though mortal, had thinner lips than his Lady- it was a simpler task for him to curl the points inwards, and to not worry so deeply about cutting him. Easier, too, with Lurien’s claspers pressing him open even further, trying to grasp him as he came close rather than slip inside, like his Lady’s filaments; he barely had to use his fingers to hold him open, an opportunity he used to slick up two as he slowly teased around his entrance, sliding his tongue up just past his clit. 

Lurien moaned quietly at the touch, trying to rock his hips forward; he responded by pressing him down with a free hand, holding him against the bed, before he slowly slipped the tip of one finger inside him, pressing him open. A whimper in response, the hand on his cheek pulled away to claw into the sheets, and again, he stroked by with his tongue, this time pressing the rough patch at the tip up hard under his clit, focusing on curling the forked tips around his shaft.

“Aaah! Gods!” The spasm in response was expected, and welcomed; he felt a spark of euphoria race through him, the heat in his stomach coiling tighter, before he pulled his tongue away and began to lap at his entrance, rejoicing silently in the way Lurien pulsed around his finger, trying desperately to clench around him. It wasn’t enough, he knew, and his tongue was too much- what a delight, as always, to remember how  _ sensitive _ he was- but he found it an appealing contrast of sensation, and so on the next pass, he rubbed against his clit even harder than he did before, well-prepared for the buck. “Gods, y-you’re... _ fuck. _ ”

_ Here,  _ he wanted to say, but focusing on language either verbal or mental was too difficult with the taste of his arousal on his tongue; his head was pounding with it, with the sweet muskiness, a throb that went straight between his legs. He could feel his own slick threatening to drip free from his sheath, and the thrum in his chest seemed to be doing  _ something _ to Lurien, his legs twitching with every deep pulse of his mating-rumble; it turned into a full-in tremble as he teased him with his finger, dipping in and out to only the first knuckle, less penetration than pressure. Lurien cursed softly, trying to dip his hips downward to get him to slip deeper, and in response he circled his tongue around his clit, grasping his member as he used to grasp prey, the frantic tempo of his heartbeat readily apparent as he moved his tongue to make it feel like he was fucking his mouth, all his focus pinpointed on the effort of not sliding off.

(He’d offered, once, to finish the transition with his own magic. Lurien had declined politely, content with his body as it was, but he’d seen the spark of curiosity in his eyes, had seen his jaw clench around the tentative question about the differences. He’d left it at that, not wanting to pry, but one day, he figured, he would ask if he wanted to share minds, to feel what he felt as he slid into him- to feel how good he felt, his warm wet heat clenching down on his members. He would have to find a way to share the experience without overwhelming him, however, so for now the offer remained unspoken.)

“Nnn, it’s too much, it’s  _ so _ much.” Lurien practically panted the words, his voice cracking deliciously on every syllable; it broke even further as he squeezed tighter and pressed down, rubbing the course pad of his tongue against the soft head, trying to see how far he could push the stimulation. What he got in return was, however, was Lurien crying out, twitching under his touch, and the return of his right hand to shove lightly at his face, his tongue slipping off his clit with the break in his attention. “No, no, it’s too much, please, too much at once.”

He obliged, knowing that now was not the time to play with overstimulation, and gave an apologetic nudge to the hand against his cheek. Lurien stroked against the side of his jaw, feeling the low rumbles through his throat, before returning to his hold on the sheets, relaxing again under his touch. “You’re fine, you’re perfect. That was just, ah, a little too much. All at once. A little too much all at once.” His antennae flicked backwards as he winced, clearly embarrassed at how he said it, but that was easily fixed with a gentle nudge against his thigh. “Do what you wish, just...a little slower, please.”

“Understood.” Speaking felt like gargling gravel, so he returned to his task. This time, however, he swirled the three points of his tongue around Lurien’s entrance instead, removing his finger to give better access. A soft whimper was his only response, followed by the muscles clenching under his tongue- and then a gasping, disbelieving moan, as he curled the tips of his tongue into a spearpoint, and slowly pressed inside, curling it up against the ridges within, already flared with arousal.

(Stars above, he could almost  _ feel  _ those walls catching against the underside of his pricks, flared plates threatening to lock them together. He could almost  _ feel  _ the way Lurien would clench tight around the base of him, shivering with pleasure, and this time, when the ache between his legs reached another peak, he allowed the heads of his pricks to slip past his lips, the breath of cool air against his slick skin both a relief and a curse.) 

Lurien was choking back gasps, overwhelmed in a different way this time; curiously, he wriggled his tongue, straining to see how deep he could go, before he slid two fingers up under his tongue, pressing in against the clench. Lurien gasped, swearing as his claspers tried futility to grasp hold of his mandibles, and he rumbled his pleasure as he pressed forward, turning the aimless writhing of his tongue into a steady rhythm. It was difficult, pushing in and out with both his fingers and his tongue, but he knew that seeking out his sweet spot would reap good rewards; he could feel him stretching out a little, aided by his slick and saliva, but he was still far too tight to take one of his shafts, let alone two, as he knew he liked. 

Though, perhaps he could try penetrating with the lower, let the ridges under his higher prick rub against his clit as he fucked him- but no, no, Lurien had not asked for anything more than this, he could ignore the building urge to stimulate himself in the back of his mind. Focus, focus he had to focus. This was good, he could tell by the pitch of his moans, but this would not be enough to get him off.

_ Focus, focus. Just a little bit further, he knew where- _

The deeper part of his mating-rumble thrummed in his chest, shaking the bed below, and this time, Lurien cried out, hips bucking under his hold. Bemused, he pulled back, slick dripping from his mouth- for he had not yet found his sweet spot, he knew, nor was he doing anything more than preparing him- but Lurien’s knees pushed past his lax hands to press against the side of his head, locking him in place before he could go any further.

“No, no, that was  _ perfect,  _ don’t stop.” He did not seem to be aware of the fact that he was babbling, struggling up on his knees to look on him- he seemed nearly frantic, too caught in his chase for orgasm to care about decorum, and the sight  _ throbbed  _ low in his gut, lumaflies flickering in his chest. “You were good, you were very good, when you did the...the purr, it felt  _ good,  _ really good. Really, really good.”

...His purr? His mating call? He tipped his head for a second, ignoring the cooling sensation of slick on his fangs, before he realized what he had done. The vibration in his chest and throat must have stimulated his clitoris, even with him not directly touching it- he had heard of toys made for such a manner, but he had never thought to seek them out, and he knew that Lurien hadn’t, either, too shy to purchase something that could be easily lost among the clutter of his art supplies.

... _ Interesting. _

“Very well,” he rumbled, and pushed him back- Lurien went willingly, panting with his excitement, and he returned to his position between his legs, a rare mischievous spark flickering through his heart. He knew what to do now; likely, he did not even need to stimulate the g-spot, with the vibration of his call thrumming through his mandibles, but if he did… “Tell me right away if it gets to be too much.”

A mumbled affirmation, Lurien releasing his head to push his hips close to his face, and he once again curled his fangs inwards, stroking his tongue back against his entrance. This time, however, as he slipped both tongue and fingers to curl within, he angled his head so that the flat edge of one fang pressed hard against the base of his clit, and rumbled as loud as he could, synching the sound with his movements as he curled the pads of his fingers along the ridges in his walls, and slid his tongue in as deep as it could go.

_ This  _ time, Lurien's cry broke into a sob of pleasure, less a moan and more a gasp; he tried to move, to thrust back against his fangs, but he did not let him, grabbing his hips and pressing him down, delighting in the way that he shivered under his touch. Setting up a faster tempo was more difficult than he anticipated- his tongue was muscular, yes, and dexterous, but it was hardly made for fucking, or for staying out of the way of his fingers- but Lurien hardly seemed to notice, squirming under his hands as he sobbed his name, his voice breaking as the familiar rough patch of his sweet spot struck against the pads of his fingers.

_ There we go. _

Satisfied with his discovery, he let out a low, pulsing purr, and finally allowed himself to unsheathe, the release of pressure swimming in his head. Still, he did not touch himself as he curled his fingers and sped up the tempo, his focus entirely on Lurien. He could tell, by the nature of his cries, that he was close; normally, he would have lasted longer, would have savored the sensation, but now was not a time for gentle thrusts and quiet gasps shared between kisses- now was a time for him to see how much stimulation he could give to him before he was left thinking of nothing else, and he  _ did,  _ and now he was trying to see how long he could stretch it out, tirelessly working his fingers and tongue despite the steadily-building ache, alternating the pressure of the mandible against his clit as his throat buzzed with the mating-purr of his kin, Lurien's devotion to him more intoxicating than the finest alcohol as he ground his hips down and called his name.

(Dizzy with desire, his senses filled with the taste of his arousal, he wondered idly how long he should continue on like this- if he could see how many times he could make him cum, until he was nothing more than a shivering, fucked-out mess on the bed, someone to hold close and care for and protect.)

(Love was a game, one that he fully intended to win- if only because it was so much easier for him to gift the sweetest fruits of his labor to his beloved ones, rather than put it into words himself.)

He was not far off in his estimate, but his Watcher lasted longer than he expected him to- savoring the experience, perhaps, or was still caught up in some remnant of shyness that prevented him from fully letting go. Still, it was not long before his gasps turned into quietly-whispered curses and airy whimpers, and even shorter still before they stopped altogether; he felt the muscles under his fingers and tongue spasm, a gush of sweet slick dripping out from between his lower mandibles, and felt a rush of his own satisfaction sweep over him, purring wordless praises as he worked him through his orgasm, until Lurien was once again gasping  _ 'too much, too much _ ', pushing him gently away from his twitching slit.

Pulling himself upright was a messy experience, both in the terms of cleanliness and bodily protests; his tongue ached as it withdrew, fingers slipping free with a frankly obscene noise, and his neck and jaws set up a protest about their ill use that was nearly as obnoxious as the pulsing need still throbbing in his gut, his twin pricks leaving behind a notable wet spot on the sheets as he pulled away from where he'd been grinding uselessly against the bed. Still, he had waited far longer to please himself than this, and had delved through fluids far worse than anything produced by sex; it was barely an annoyance to withdraw a good portion of himself back into his sheath, and to shuffle forward to clean his face with the rags propped against the edge of the washbasin. He might not find the scent to be intolerable (at least, not yet), but the stickiness  _ was _ , and he had read somewhere that it was a good idea to hydrate after these sorts of events, anyways, so he ignored the ache in his jaws in favor of taking a few sips from Lurien's glass of drinking water before he huddled close and pressed it to his Watcher’s mouth, still too loose-limbed and disoriented from his orgasm to try to sit upright.

(How good he looked, relaxed in his bed instead of tense and looking for danger, his three eyes soft and hazy with pleasure instead of focused tiredly on documents speaking of nothing but death and ruination. The wild part of his mind purred with a pleasure that had nothing to do with sex, satisfied with he left him lounging languidly in the sheets, vulnerable yet relaxed, trusting in his god to care for him.)

"Drink a little, your throat must be parched," he murmured, helping him sit up; his legs were shaking too much to offer sufficient support. Again, the satisfaction of a job well done impressed itself in his mind, but he shoved that away in the same manner that he shoved away his own arousal, seeking the heat of Lurien's body as he tried to nestle his head into the crook of his shoulder. Guarding his throat was not something that Lurien fully understood the significance of, perhaps, but it served a dual purpose for them both- comfort for Lurien, and something to calm him, for his ruff was soft, and his scent calmed the need pulsing in his veins almost as much as it inflamed his desire to mate. "You need the fluids."

"Mm." A nondescript noise, but he took the glass without shaking, and drank anyways. Even if it was naught more than a few sips, the Pale King felt a tightness ease in his chest at the sight of it, instincts satisfied in him looking after his mate. Still, it was not long before he handed it back to be put aside, and reached out to grasp one of his hands with his own, rubbing his thumb over pale knuckles while his hazy gaze sharpened, and dropped lower. "You still haven't come yet."

"I can wait until you're ready again, if you wish," he murmured; his heart raced at the idea, at how good it would feel to slide into someone so wet and ready for him. Perhaps he should take it slower this time, but...he already had an idea for how to go about wringing a second orgasm out of him, and the part of his mind oversaturated with his lust agreed  _ very  _ readily with the concept. "I am in no rush."

"Yet I can see the heads of your dicks poking out of their sheath, and I can see you leaking moisture from both ends of your slit" Lurien commented dryly, before softening his words with a kiss, seemingly caring little about his own taste still lingering on his tongue. He kissed him back, trying to progress it into something more, but Lurien broke away to rest his cheek against his jaw, giving his hand a little squeeze. "I would be more than happy to oblige. You were amazing, but...I'd like to feel you a bit deeper than how far your tongue can go."

He trailed off into a mumble, antennae flickering shyly; for a moment, the Pale King thought about making a gentle jest about him still being ashamed of his requests after he had just willingly stuck his tongue in his vagina, but he stifled the idea rather quickly. Lurien had spent years hiding how he felt from him, and he still remembered just how nervous he had been when learning how to act around his Lady, terrified of scaring her away with the more violent aspects of his nature. It would probably be cruel to joke about such a thing, even if it fell into line with Lurien’s particular brand of humour. 

So he kissed him instead, tilting his head so that he could slot their mandibles together, aiming for something softer than the hunger still raging within him. Lurien sighed into the kiss, content, and released his hand so that he could cup his jaw, pulling him close. The heat of his naked body was perfect against the thinner plates along his underside, urging him to press in closer, and it wasn’t long before his wings were trembling with his desire, threatening to flare out in a burst of light, to show any of those who might be watching the power that lingered within him. It wasn’t long before the low burn in his abdomen had pitched into the rage of a wildfire, pulsing pressure building in his slit, his tail coiling around Lurien’s legs to pin him close, shorter legs gripping him tight. It wasn’t long at all before Lurien’s breaths started to come as gasps again, his blunt claws scratching sweetly against his throat, or for him to start purring once more, his low, throbbing rumble sending a shiver through them both. 

(And he had once thought of himself as patient. What a joke.)

He pulled back to breathe, retracting his tongue, and watched hazily as Lurien tried to chase after him, a soft noise of complaint leaving him. For a moment, he thought he would lose control of himself and unsheathe again, to grind himself to orgasm on the soft fur of Lurien’s hip like some rutting adolescent...but he forced himself not to at the last second, sore jaws clenching as he fought against the aching throb. Pleasure nearly became pain, hovering just on the verge of  _ not enough-  _ but he didn’t want to lose control, even if his rumble was starting to verge into a growl.

“H..How do you want me?” Lurien’s voice warbled on the last word, his normally soft voice gaining a sweet trill, but he didn’t seem to notice, his gaze flickering down to where the two of them were pressed together. One of his fingers reached down, swiping along the slick gathering on the seam of his slit, before he pressed it  _ right _ up against the tip of one of his pricks, sending a pulse of pure pleasure jolting through his body. He snarled, nearly overwhelmed at the sensation, and then struggled to choke back the sound, heart leaping in his throat- but Lurien didn’t seem to be frightened of him at all, his breaths coming quicker as he watched him, finger tracing a circle over the soft flesh before his hips jerked away, head ringing with his arousal. 

“Get on your knees.” His voice, again, came out rougher than he wanted it- he did not want it to be lapsing into this purring growl, he did not want to sound like a beast slavering for flesh. But Lurien went eagerly, his beautiful wings fanning out of their usual crinkled state, and when he arched his back and spread his legs, he found himself forgetting just why he was so upset with himself in the first place. It was hard to think, when he yielded himself so easily; it was hard to breathe, when he saw him glance up at him, shy yet eager, and knew that he followed his lead willingly. 

He had made Lurien the Watcher because he saw the gift he gave to bugs burning bright within the depths of his soul, a beacon among a sea of small stars. He had been drawn to him, curious of the mark that Hallownest had laid upon his brow, and he had found a scholar, an artist, a silent observer who stood resolutely against the tide of the masses and found beauty in the world that he had created, despite his years of standing alone. In him, he had seen promise, a quiet strength underneath the stilted anxiety, and he had coaxed it forth over years of meetings until Lurien was a pillar of fortitude in the Pale Court- an advisor, his right hand, the tie between the ethereal expanse of the Dream Realm and the fragile earth of the Waking World.

(If the White Lady held his heart in her palms, taming the wild monster coiled deep in his chest, then the Watcher was his eyes, opening his mind to the beauty of the world beyond the shear of teeth and the glory of bloodshed. He was not on the level of the rest of his kin, gluttonous worldenders, seekers of conflict, but he was a conqueror by birthright, and war was his damnation.)

Head buzzing with the force of his instincts, he could not _ quite _ resist the urge to drape himself over his back, slick sheath rubbing briefly against hot flesh, so that he might fasten his fangs around the nape of his neck, locking his jaws in place before his teeth could press in deep enough to hurt him. Lurien arched his back, pressing up against him with a moan of delight, and in response, he ran his two lower hands down his sides, grasping his hips as his jaws tightened ever-so-slightly, holding him in place. 

_ Mine. _

“You’re a cruel tease, beloved.” Lurien’s voice vibrated up through his mandibles, low and quiet; he rumbled in response, nearly dizzy with the love pounding through his chest, and finally released him, so that he might slide back far enough to line up both their slits, grinding against his wet heat. This time, it was  _ his _ moan that echoed through the room, his body betraying him as hot sparks of pleasure raced up his body. The tightness in his sheath was nearly unbearable, agony and ecstasy merging into one, but forcing himself to stay in control was becoming harder and harder to hold, especially when Lurien rocked back against him, claspers squeezing the soft flesh still covering his shafts. The added pressure turned the tight pressure into a white-hot, burning sensation, stabbing into the heads of his pricks, and he tightened his grip, letting out a wordless, wild cry; still,  _ still,  _ he did not let himself let go, thrusting forward against Lurien’s wet folds, until he felt the tip of Lurien’s clit press past the lower scales rimming his own entrance, a ghost of true penetration, and heard his soft moans pitch up into a frustrated groan.

“Come on! Let go, you bring nothing to the both of us but agony.” Lurien rocked his hips backwards, grinding against the opening of his sheath; it reminded him of their first mating, how eager he had been despite having no real experience with such encounters, and the surge of affection at the memory loosened some of his control, the tips of his dicks sliding free. His rumble jumped up into another moan, hot pleasure coursing through his veins, and Lurien pressed up against him and looked over his shoulder with a desperation that struck straight to his heart.  _ “Please,  _ love, I want you.”

The low trill in his voice was what broke him, his heart flipping up into his throat. He adjusted his grip, aligning his hips to the proper angle, and let the rest of himself slip free, the piercing, cold pleasure jolting through his shafts mingling with the relief of release. Lurien sucked in a sharp gasp, stiffening as both members attempted to slide into him at once- he was wet enough from both of their slick to drip onto the sheets, wet enough to take them both, but he had only been stretched enough to allow one to penetrate him easily, a fact that became readily apparent as he stifled a whimper, his walls clenching tight around him.

_ Carr _ _ ô _ _ ch, asmir achn _ _ ậ _ _ m, g _ _ î _ _ rmank, fuck,  _ **_fuck_ ** **_fuck-_ **

“Are you okay?” he rasped, once he found the words in the right tongue to use; he had been right, in that prohibiting himself from unsheathing would exacerbate his pleasure, but that was unimportant if Lurien did not experience the same euphoria that he did when their bodies joined. Concerned, he made to draw out- all his instincts screamed at him to stop, but he was not an  _ animal,  _ he could wait- only for Lurien to let out another moan, and reach a hand down to rub at his clit, his muscles relaxing with each stroke of his fingers.

“N-no, it’s okay. Don’t pull out. Just...give me a moment. It feels good, but it's...it's a  _ lot _ .” His wings fluttered once, azure lines and dots flaring bright over deep purples and blues, before coming to a rest on the bed, the fuzzy tips trembling with the beat of his heart. It was as much of a display as him spreading his legs, and he felt a heady flare of arousal pulse through his veins, his shafts futilely trying to twitch against tight, ridged walls. Every instinct in his body urged for him to thrust, seeking that sweet friction, but he forced himself to  _ wait _ , his hum a low rhythm in his chest, his two free hands rubbing circles into his Watcher's back, the ones on his hips carving figure eights through the dense fur.

(There was, he admitted, a different sort of pleasure to denying himself the freedom of movement- it was a game, a test of wills he was unwilling to lose, not until Lurien gave the go-ahead. The muscles around his sheath spasmed, tired from forcefully holding himself shut, but that was quite alright; it was a test of wills, rather than physical prowess, that guided this next step to further progression. He could wait, he could resist the urge to push deep, he could resist and he  _ would _ , because he was more than his body, he was more than the monster etched deep within his code.)

(...by the Abyss, Lurien was  _ hot.  _ He never thought he would touch someone so warm, much less have lain in bed with them, but  _ stars  _ **_above_ ** , he was hot, the heat of his body warming his palms, his cunt a brand of heat around his twin pricks. He wanted nothing more than to pull him tight up against him, to rub his face into the soft fur between his wings, but he forced himself to stay still, letting him adjust to the feeling of him inside of him.)

Lurien took a shaky breath in, tentatively rocking his hips; he hissed at the sensation, pleasure shooting up through his body, and Lurien clenched tight around him in response, before sighing quietly, his hand slipping out from between his legs. “You- you can move now. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” This time, he impressed the words against the starry expanse of Lurien’s mind, ensuring communication without pressing too deep; his Watcher reached back to him, a swirl of foreign love and devotion manifesting as a burst of sweeping warmth within his chest, and he couldn’t  _ quite  _ stop himself from reacting in turn, his rumble deepening to a throbbing purr as he carefully cupped his fragile mind in the coils of his thoughts. Gentle, he had to be  _ gentle,  _ the minds of mortals could be crushed so easily...but if the soft whine Lurien gave in reply was any indication, a low, keening cry mingling with his own deep call, then he knew that his intent had come through in the end.

(How different this affection was, from the love he held for his wife. How different, but no less beautiful for it- he never knew that it could come in so many different colours, so many different forms of devotion. His feelings had been naught but an empty plain of grey before he found his purpose and ascended, but now they were an expanse of deep blues and soft colours, fading to a white so keen it nearly hurt. Not a weakness, not a chink in his armour like the rest of his petty emotions- the protectiveness that this inspired was proof of that. The strength they gave him could never be considered a flaw.)

Slowly, he pushed himself the rest of the way in, until the lips of his sheath were pressed against Lurien’s folds, soft skin kissing thin scales. The dull points of Lurien’s claspers scrabbled at his plates, finding no purchase; for a moment, he just ground their hips together, dizzy with pleasure and the sound of Lurien’s soft moans, before he readjusted his grip, angled himself just so, and slowly began to thrust.

_ By the blinding sands of the Wastelands, he was so  _ **_tight._ **

Lurien let out a startled cry, claspers unhooking from their precarious grip on his slit, before his surprised yelp turned into a long, low moan, body moving easily with each roll of his hips. His grip on the sheets tightened, a full-body shiver making his wings tremble like a leaf, and the Pale King felt a wave of satisfaction roll over him at the sight, his rumble pitching deeper as he reached forward to run one of his free hands down Lurien’s back, his lower set of arms pulling him back on every forward thrust. His prediction from before had turned out to be correct; the flared plates lining the underside of his shafts were dragging against the swollen ridges of Lurien’s walls, threatening to lock them together everytime he pushed in deep. He knew that they existed, of course- he had felt them swell under his fingers as he prepared him, had felt them grip him on all sides the first time they had mated- but this was the first time he had taken him like this, fucking him roughly from the back with his face pressed to the sheets, and if he recalled correctly, Lurien’s sweet spot should be right about-

He draped his front end over Lurien’s back, nuzzling the tip of his mask into the soft ruff between his shoulders; one of his upper arms slid under his abdomen, pressing him up as his shafts pressed down, and Lurien’s low gasps broke into a full-on sob, a strangled ‘ _ oh  _ **_gods_ ** _ ’  _ moaned into the sheets. His hips jerked in his grip, shaky off-rhythm thrusts knocking them both out of the optimal position- the Pale King slowed, rumbling as soothingly as he could as his soft hiccups pitched into a frustrated groan, nipping gently at the velvety fur just under his masktip, and coiled his tail around Lurien’s left leg, locking him into place. 

_ I have you. _

Thrusting was a little more difficult in this pose than the last, but it kept both of them pressed together at just the right angle for him to target his sweet spot, and it wasn’t long before he was back to the pace he’d set before, dizzying pleasure coursing through him at the sweet friction, nearly overwhelmed with the warmth of the body pressed against his own. Lurien sobbed again, trembling in his grip, the iridescent streaks of blue under his eyes growing damp- part of him felt a thrill race through him at the sight of Lurien’s tears, but a deeper instinct urged for him to rub his face up against him and  _ protect,  _ so that was what he did, brushing light kisses along his back as he rubbed soothing circles under his abdomen, fingers ghosting over his clit.

(The fur down there was wet with slick. He did not want to think about how much that made the coil in his stomach curl tighter, how it made him twitch on the next thrust in, spreading his shafts apart, that familiar tight stretch threatening to tip him over the edge.)

“Are you okay?” He rasped, more telepathy than speech- he was too far gone to try, his own low moans rumbling with the force of his purr. His heartbeat pounded in his head, in the head of his dicks, shivered in the tips of his wings, but he found that he had just enough control left in him to reach down blindly with his one free arm to grab Lurien’s hand, resting his fingers in the slots between. It was a bit difficult, shoulders slanting awkwardly to make it, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to care, particularly when Lurien released the bed to grip him tight, thumb stroking over the side of his hand in short, jerky movements. Trust, and tenderness, shown in the smallest of gestures, and the knowledge of it surged through him like a storm, power crackling from the tips of his horns to the fan of his tail.

(For what was a priest but a chalice to the divine…) 

“ _ Stars,  _ I love you.” Lurien’s voice was hardly more than a broken sob, a deep trill in it nearly rivaling his own purr. His heart lurched, chest tightening to a point that was nearly painful; he wanted desperately to lean close enough to brush away the tears, but his body was too short to do anything more than squeeze his hand gently in his own, already stretched as far as he could without unbalancing them both. Carefully, he slowed his thrusts, turning his hard, fast pace into a slower, rocking grind, and Lurien’s breath hitched, his hips twitching in his hold.  _ “Fuck,  _ right there, right there. Fuck, I love you, just a little faster,  _ please…” _

He trailed off into a low moan, pressing his cheek into the sheets, giving his hand another squeeze. He could see the tear tracks clearly now, black streaks in his already dark fur, and the throb of desire he felt at the sight was nearly enough to send him over the edge, heat tingling through his entire body. He bit down hard on the edge of one mandible, his pleased groan turning into a snarled curse, and snapped his hips forward harder, faster; Lurien arched his back up to meet his every thrust, his breaths coming in short, cut-off gasps- he felt the edge slipping closer, the pressure low in his core coiling tighter and tighter, before he heard Lurien’s ragged trill, and realized, vaguely, the could no longer feel his shafts rubbing so closely together, his twin members attempting to spread apart and anchor him in deep.

Desperately, he tried to lock down on the fire building in his belly, to hold himself back like he did before; the rub of Lurien’s walls against the ridges of his dicks became near-unbearable, the sensation almost overwhelming, and, with a curse, he moved the hand on Lurien’s abdomen down to rub at his clit. His finger slipped over it twice before he was able to circle two around it, wet with the slick and precum dripping from his cunt- with a soft curse of his own, Lurien released his grip on the bed to help guide him, his ass pressing up against the King’s hips as his shoulder hit the bed. The shift in position forced him in deeper, his thrusts slowing with the change to grind harder against his sweet spot, and Lurien let out another sharp cry as he finally managed to trap his clit between his thumb and forefinger, stroking it in the same fast, hard strokes as he’d use on himself. 

_ I have you, I have you. _

“A-aah! P-Pale!” His voice broke into a series of sharp, harsh gasps, before rising again into a high, wavering keen; his hips were jerking in his hands, spasming out as he began to tip over the edge, and, with a sudden burst of focus, the Pale King shifted his thumb so that the soft pad at the tip pressed against the head of his clit, rubbing hard circles into the soft flesh as Lurien sobbed and writhed. It was imperative that he came- nothing would matter if he didn’t, the lightning striking through his veins with every thrust in deep did not  _ matter,  _ the pleasure rocking his mortal form  _ did not matter,  _ not if he couldn’t watch Lurien come undone under his hands, brought to pieces beneath him. 

The third most powerful bug in the City of Tears, appointed by his blessing, brought to pieces because of  _ him. _

**_I have you, I’m holding you, let go._ **

“Come for me,” he snarled, in a voice that was not his own- it was too harsh, too deep, the rumbling growl of a monster instead of the dignified creature he made himself out to be. He almost did not recognize himself, almost did not recognize the power behind his words, how it chimed through the room like the deep peal of a bell, the echo of a stone falling into still water.

But it was enough. With a quiet, strangled gasp, Lurien stiffened up and began to shake, his walls rhythmically seizing around him. The pressure made his head spin, his own thrusts growing erratic, but he retained just enough of his control to keep rubbing him through it, feeling his clit pulse under his thumb with each hard stroke, until the strongest of the spasms had passed and it was just him shivering weakly under his hand, his walls squeezing tight around him.

And it was looking up to see Lurien blearily watching him over his shoulder that tipped him into his own orgasm, the coiling heat breaking free. He pressed himself in as deep as he could go, feeling his control slip out from between his fingers as white-hot pleasure coursed through his body, intense enough to almost be to the point of pain; the rumble into his chest turned into a low groan, building dangerously close to a needy whine as he rode through it, jaws snapping shut on empty air. He could feel himself pulsing, could feel his hips still rocking forward; dimly, he could feel Lurien rubbing his thumbs over his wrists, tracing the joints of his knuckles, could hear him whispering sweet nothings as he rode out the aftershocks, his body a thoughtless machine to its own whims, mind detached, wandering about in a fog. 

Eventually, he became aware of the fact that he was still buried within Lurien, lying limply atop his back with his face pressed into his fluff; his tail was still wrapped around his leg, his thighs still pressing Lurien’s apart, but he’d moved both sets of arms forward to hug him close to his chest, in the closest approximation to a full-body coil that he could manage. Lurien himself didn’t seem to mind too much, as he’d adjusted his position to lie comfortably on his front, but the Pale King was very quickly becoming aware of the stickiness between his legs, and struggled to pull himself back up, wincing as his softening members slipped free with a gush of fluid, a string of combined slick and seed briefly connecting them before he slipped his pricks back into his sheathe.

(He would think that all those ridges and divots would be better at capturing his...emissions, but then again, he didn’t exactly own a butterfly’s genitalia. He’d shaped his form to something he knew would be pleasurable to another wyrm, with a few adjustments based on the White Lady’s whims- he hadn’t expected to fall for a mortal at the time, or to consider such a thing as a possibility, all those thousands of years ago. By the Abyss, he hadn’t even bred anyone by then, for he’d dodged all the prospective mates looking to him to fertilize their clutch; the most he’d experienced was another curious young wyrm attempting to prod his slit with their ovipositor during his first heat, before they lost all interest in him whatsoever, and had put it away in favor of chasing down an older wyrm with far more blood on their fangs than him. By the time he encountered any more of his kind, he’d become big enough to be considered a threat, and had been met with a courting-fight instead of the closest thing two blind, armless behemoths could get to feeling each other up.)

(...It was also possible that he had misjudged the amount of seed he needed to produce to comfortably mate with someone closer to his chosen size. Wyrms produced a lot on average, to make up for the length of the reproductive tract, and he had assumed that all other species must follow the same traits as his. It was, after all, hard to divine exact details from the minds of mortals, when they were ever so prone to exaggeration.)

After a moment, he realized that there was something tapping against the point of his mask; he blinked, flicking thin protective membranes up over his eyes on instinct, before it formed into a shape that made sense, the glistening curve of the water glass glittering in his glow.

Ah. He was drifting off again. That tended to happen a bit, after an encounter as intense as this. One would think that he would be able to hold onto his thoughts a little better, especially after  _ he  _ had spent most of the session in control...but maybe not.

“Now it’s your turn to drink,” Lurien whispered, his voice a quiet rasp- he looked up at him, startled by how rough he sounded, but Lurien just shook his head and smiled, pushing the drink up against his fangs again. “No, don’t try to twist this around to be about me. I already drank-I just, uh. I was perhaps a bit louder than I anticipated. You made it...you made it difficult to stay quiet.”

His antennae flicked back, but unlike before, they didn’t stay down for long- his post-coital bliss seemed to be making it hard for him to stay embarrassed, body relaxed as he reclined on the bed. The sight sent a rush of relief through the Pale King’s chest, chasing some of the fog away from his thoughts, and he took the glass from him to drink deep, clicking his fangs on the edge at the surprising tint of coolleaf. Unexpected, but not unwanted; he did not mind Lurien’s musk clinging to his face, for he found the scent of his pheromones to be quite pleasant, but there was an unfortunate stickiness lingering in his mouth, a queer aftertaste on his tongue, one that probably had more to do with taking in gasps of the paint-saturated air than anything that had to do with sex. 

While he drank, Lurien kicked the soiled sheets to the food of the bed, a tired grunt escaping him at the effort. Though he knew it was futile, and that he would resent sleeping in his own fluids, he still felt a spike of worry course through him at leaving the both of them so exposed, and set the glass back on the table so that he could help pull away the old sheet, and draw up a new blanket from the pile Lurien shoved up against the wall to stave off the cold from the window. 

(He had offered to renovate it, once, to build a thicker plane so that the chill could not seep into the room, but Lurien had shook his head and told him of how he often nestled into the curve of the sill to sketch the City below, comfortable with a blanket or two wrapped around him, and the thought of seeing him silhouetted against the blue while he lounged on the bed beside him had been  _ more  _ than sufficient at distracting him enough to keep him from pressing his case.) 

Cleaning the two of them was more of a quiet affair; his body was still tingling with the aftershocks of what they’d done, and Lurien was clearly too tired to be troubled by the silence, wordlessly accepting his offer of soul when he fumbled his way through the heating spell for his washcloth. Nor did he feel inclined to speak, either; a faint edge of unease was hanging around the edge of his mind, the fear that he had gone too far ever-present in his thoughts. 

Still, when they both dropped the soiled washcloths onto the ruined bedsheets, and curled up under a heavy layer of blankets to stave off the cold beyond, it was not an honourable, selfless inquiry that unspooled his tongue from the knot it made in his throat; it was Lurien’s gaze resting upon him, eyes warm and full of affection that prompted him to break the silence. It was his voice, rough and deep still, that washed over the sound of their soft breaths, and what he said could hardly be considered selfless at all. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

He felt a wave of shame crash over him after he said it- he was a  _ god,  _ it was his job to look after his Watcher, not the other way around, especially after  _ using  _ him to seek his own pleasure- but Lurien’s smile softened, from something verging on the edge of shyness to one full and content. “Do it, then. I’m yours.”

(‘Yours’, he had said, and the wild part of himself cried out in victory. He was  _ his,  _ yes, his and his alone, his eye of the City, his tie to this unforgiving world, his bond to the place that he had carved out for himself and turned into a home, safe from the endless wastes beyond.)

**_And I, too, belong to you._ **

He could not speak it; the words tangled on his tongue, a messy affair that was far too confusing to untangle. So he settled for trying to show it instead, kissing him softly, pressing close so that he might feel the warmth of his body against him, more a comfort this time than a tease. And Lurien took him readily, arms sliding around to hold him close; draping his tail over his hip to coil around him felt natural, felt  _ right,  _ a feeling only surpassed when he pressed his forehead up under Lurien’s chin to guard his throat and be protected in turn, the slow pulse of his heartbeat pushing away the eerie fog in his head. 

For a while, they lay in silence, long enough that he thought that Lurien fell asleep. Long enough for him to sleepily reach out to his bond through the Kingsoul, to seek out the state that his wife was currently in. Long enough to sense the vague echo of his feelings through her end of the bond, and to assume that she spent the night in a similar manner that he did, with Dryya under her rather than him; long enough for them to quietly send each other their regards, tired amusement and affection passed wordlessly through their soul-bond, despite the distance between them. Long enough for him to find staying awake to be a struggle, despite the buzz of Lurien’s devotion under his skin, too comfortable to resist the urge for a peaceful rest with one of his mates.

At least, until Lurien asked, his voice rough with exhaustion and yet no less curious,

"Just  _ how  _ frustrated were you?"

He might have been on the edge of sleep, but that was something that drew a disdainful growl from his throat, recalling the inane droning of the meeting before his visit. "They were arguing about building another aqueduct."

"That doesn't seem so-"

"The proposed location for the start of it was on the twelfth block of western sector, precisely where a low-ranking orphanage and schoolyard lay. The matter of the location bothered them less than the apparent costs of the construction, even after I pointed out that taking from the poor would be detrimental to their production and income in the long run, and that the costs would be much more beneficial if they were put to upgrading worker support than squandering it on useless things like jewelry and petty arguments. Needless to say, they were not impressed, and I will likely have to push my measure through court again with enthralling rather than convincing them to yield their hoarded geo for the benefit of Hallownest instead of sitting upon it like a stone-maddened granddam. Pointing out their foolishness with allusions to foresight only made them dither more than it worked to quiet them, which means that the enthrallment is likely going to be far more complex than what is strictly necessary. It was a predicament that I was specifically hoping to avoid."

"... _ Ah. _ "

"Mm, yes, precisely. I couldn't agree more."

And with that matter settled, he nuzzled the point of his mask into Lurien’s ruff with a small, sleepy chirr, Lurien’s laughter naught more than a warm huff of breath on his horns, and the two of them drifted into silence, the roar of the rain outside lulling them both to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> PK's not some supremely empathetic ruler with compassion for all btw, he's just not a fucking idiot.
> 
> I also hope y'all like how I wrote Lurien- I think my personal tastes leaked through a bit, ksjdfbgks. In my defense, I made Lurien PK's right-hand advisor and high priest because I thought that it would explain why he was fit for his role as Dreamer, even if he seems to he hastily shoehorned into the plan, but the consequence of that is giving someone shy, nerdy, melancholy, composed, dangerously clever, and lonely a position of high power, which in turn means that he totally deserves to have his brain fucked out after years of dry politics, collecting court cases, hearing people's terrified confessions/plea for their god, sentencing maniacs to death, emptying his mind to literally channel his god/allow him to see through his eyes, and other wild shit without getting dicked. Despite being in love for countless centuries and finally getting the horny side of his brain unlocked via the power of ~love and gay thoughts.
> 
> Like. that's a crime, right? That has to be a crime. Someone's gotta go out there and give this dumbass umbrella the character development and the dicking-down that he deserves, and that person is gonna be me. He's the fucking W a t c h e r, dude's got a wholeass TOWER to himself, he had to be more than a creep and a simp like the fandom thinks he is, bc apparently bugs just can't be mysterious among the upper echelons without gathering some rumours. Like, why can't he gather dick instead, dude? Why can't he unlock the Pale King's secret topping abilities?? Give this man the dicks! Give him ALL the dicks!! Even if he really only wants two dicks, (which I technically am not allowed to call cocks btw, bc there are no fuckin' chickens in Hallownest, no cockerels to make phallic slang words for), and would probably have a heart attack trying to hide the other dicks from his butler- he deserves it!! Dicks!!! 
> 
> ...god im so fucking tired, please help me


End file.
